The background: “Pavo” is Latin for peacock, and the group’s name is inspired by a southern constellation of the same name. In Spanish, “Comer pavo” means to be a wallflower, which applies well to this Brooklyn quintet’s retro, modern sci-fi pop: they’re geeky – wilfully so – and these five classically trained musicians have played with the likes of John Zorn. The recording studio is their habitat, where they wallow, pale and withdrawn, submerged up to their moustaches and fringes in vintage gadgetry, making pop music that makes them sound like Brian Wilson running amok in the BBC radiophonic workshop. Hill hails from Pleasantville, a village in Westchester county, New York, that reeks of a Norman Rockwell painting reframed by David Lynch. Bagg’s words and music have an eerie washed-out playfulness, a wistful exuberance, that captures the sadness of a passing moment or era.

“That’s definitely in there,” agrees Hill, referring to the atmosphere of Pavo Pavo’s excellent debut album, Young Narrator in the Breakers. “It comes from the autumnal nature of our time, leaving college in New Haven and moving to New York City. A big part of that is a mourning or grief, a loss. A lot of the songs started on a piano, played late at night at one of our parents’ houses, so there’s the introspective aspect. Then we turned up the volume and created pop or rock songs. But there’s a wistfulness at the core of the songwriting.”

The title of the album, which comes out this November, is a metaphor for being caught between the twin waves of adolescence and adulthood, and specifically about coming of age in an iconic city such as New York.

“It’s about how your relationship with a city can be like a relationship with a person,” says Hill, who admits he was drawn to NYC via Woody Allen’s bittersweet romances of the 70s. There is even a song on the album called Annie Hall, named after the eponymous heroine of Allen’s 1977 Oscar-winning comedy.

Still, where Allen’s characters were often solipsists, even narcissists, Pavo Pavo are all about “the collective vision”. “Some bands focus on the bedroom genius narrative, but we’re trying to subvert that and write songs that are stories telling collective narratives that have to do with the many personalities in the band,” Hill says. “They’re really about our friendships with each other, which is unusual for pop songs. They’re love letters to each other.”

Hill grew up with classical musician parents before gravitating towards rock; these days, he moonlights as a string arranger, notably for Dirty Projectors. Eliza Bagg is, notes Hill, “like the director of the film – she has an amazing aesthetic sensibility and vision.” She also has, he laughs, “the power of veto – she decides whether something is right, every step of the way.” Green is “the funny case” who lives in LA and “was part of the recording process but doesn’t play live with the band – his role is TBD.” Romer is Hill’s best friend; the pair grew up together in the same suburban town. “He’s a totally essential piece of the puzzle – a lot of the harmonies are him.” As for Vaughn, he’s “a very exciting drummer who’s as wild offstage as he is on.” Has he ever driven a Rolls Royce into a swimming pool? “No, he has a 1991 Honda Accord.”

The sleeve of Young Narrator in the Breakers features two women, hand in hand, walking towards an unknown destination. The mood Pavo Pavo want to project is “kind of everything’s going to be OK – we’re optimists,” Hill says. “We’re trying to look and sound like pop from the future, but made by people from the 70s.” They achieve this with a combination of classical instruments such as violins, 70s technology (mellotrons, monophonic synths) and assorted modern rock band equipment. The songs range from the wonky Beach Boys of Wiserway to Ran Ran Run which sounds like TV on the Radio producing the Shirelles, Bagg’s vocals all ghostly wisps. Some of it is folky and Fleet Foxes-ish, other parts are Flaming Lips-y and spacey. Sometimes they sound like both. The gadget fetishism never gets in the way of a good melody: the Aquarium is a lovely slow-motion drift; We’ll Have Nothing Going on a lush, shimmery treat. Always, the intention is to reclaim the studio as the primary site for pop magic.

“The studio is very important to us,” says Hill, describing Pavo Pavo as “homebodies” more likely to spend the evening twiddling knobs than dancing at the disco. He explains that the album was pieced together, collage-style, in a variety of studios. “Not only do we want to write great pop songs, but we’re also trying to harness the mystery of the recording studio.” And just in time for Thanksgiving, too.